“I won’t leave the house,” she said. “I think, perhaps, I shall spend the day keeping watch over Lady Agatha. Safe and sound.”
He sighed. “Good. I’m very glad to hear that, but that wasn’t what I meant… the things I said to you in your room.”
“Oh—you needn’t worry. It was a difficult day and we were both quite overset by it all,” she offered dismissively.
“I wasn’t overset. I meant every word of it. I cannot explain it to you, Beatrice. But as much as I came back here to claim my title and my home, I think more so, I returned to claim you. What I remembered just now… last night, Lady Agatha, said that I played all those pranks on you as a child, that I picked and plucked and bullied because I wanted your attention.”
“Surely not,” she denied with a blush staining her cheeks.
“I did. When I threw your sketchbook into the sea, it was motivated by jealousy… you’d sketched a portrait of Edmund and I was infuriated by it.”
She smiled at that. “You were only a boy.”
“I was a tyrant,” he admitted. “Perhaps being lost, having a life of hardship, was the best thing for me. I cannot imagine what manner of man I would be otherwise.”
“What manner of man you would be is irrelevant. I am quite pleased with the man you are.” The admission was uttered softly, her gaze locked on the floor between them.
Those words pierced him, sinking deep, twisting something inside him until his control snapped. Without thought or care that he was breaking all the rules, he reached for her, pulling her to him, until her breasts were crushed against his chest and he could bury his hands in the silken strands of her dark hair. It snagged on his work-roughened hands, a reminder, if he was willing to heed it, that he was not for her.
“Tell me to stop,” he said.
“I cannot,” she admitted breathlessly. “God help me, I cannot.”
Graham was lost, consumed by the need to kiss her, to have the taste of her on his lips once more. As he pressed his mouth to hers, savoring the soft sound she made as he did so, he conceded defeat. Whatever happened, whatever existed between them, it was not simply that she was his. He was hers. She owned him body and soul.
The kiss grew into its own entity. It raged like a fire, consuming them both. Carried away by it, swept up into the storm, they were both lost to its power. Crushing her to him, every curve of her lush figure burning him like a brand, Graham knew that no other woman would ever ignite him the way that she did.
Graham was helpless to resist the temptation of her body. Having seen every delectable inch of her, he knew precisely what treasures awaited him beneath the modest gown she wore. With one hand at her waist, holding her to him, he explored her body with his other hand. Mapping the curves and contours, he tested her reaction by brushing his thumb against the underside of her breast.
Her breath hitched, but she did not draw away. Moving more deliberately, he covered the tender swell with his palm. He could feel the hardened peak beneath his hand. As she arched her back, pressing more fully against him, the need to claim her, to possess her overwhelmed him.
A door opened at the end of the corridor and then closed quietly. The draft of it wafted past them. It did not douse his ardor but it was an effective reminder that there was a time and a place for what he wanted from her and the middle of a corridor was not it.
He drew back, reluctant to let her go, but determined that, for the moment, he would try to be the gentleman he was born to be and not the pirate he’d been forced to be at times. She was not yet his to take.
“I must go… I need to bring Dr. Warner here to attend Lady Agatha. This is not finished between us, Beatrice,” he cautioned, his words both a warning and a promise.
“It must be,” she said. “I cannot be your mistress and you should not take me as your wife. There is no course of action here that will not leave someone hurt, Graham.”
“I hurt now,” he said. “I ache for you in ways that I cannot describe. What I should and should not do is of no matter to me. I will do exactly as I please and the rules be damned… I want you, Beatrice. But if I thought for one moment you did not want me in return, I would never speak of it again.”
She ducked her head, not looking at him. “Wanting something does not mean that you can or should have it.”
“We will continue this discussion when I return,” he said firmly. He would not let her deny them both something that they not only craved but clearly needed out of some misguided sense of propriety.
*
Beatrice watched his departing figure until he’d vanished from sight. She was trapped. Leaving the house after the events of the day before was not an option. Even if there were not untold dangers awaiting her, there was nowhere for her to go. Castle Black had been her home since she was a small child and her father had passed away.
It was not Graham that she had to resist. It was her own traitorous body. Yearnings that she had never before experienced were driving her behavior, making her forget herself and all that she knew of decorum. Was it truly wanton if only one man affected her so?
It was not love. It could not be love, not so soon, not when they were little more than strangers to one another. Yet he compelled her, his presence excited and enticed. She was inexplicably drawn to him, as he was to her, it seemed.
The door at the end of the hall opened again. It was Betsy. She graced Beatrice with a knowing look.
“Master Edmund is beating the battle drums, Miss. He’s looking for you and for his lordship. It would not go well for him to find you together.”
“What did you see, Betsy?” Beatrice demanded, her voice soft.
“I saw nothing, Miss. But you should not be here alone. Let’s get you back to your room and then, if you need me to, I’ll walk with you to Lady Agatha’s rooms. There are many dangers in these halls, Miss Beatrice,” the maid warned. “And some are hidden better than others.”
It was a carefully worded warning and Beatrice knew that it ought to be heeded. She also knew that if he kissed her again, all the warnings in the world would be wasted on her. With her things gathered up, she followed the maid through the maze of secret passages and corridors that the servants of Castle Black utilized to fulfill their duties. Who else used them, she wondered, and for what purpose? Thinking of Christopher and whatever he might be hiding in the tower, Beatrice knew she’d have to risk it.
“Betsy, is there a passage that leads into the East Tower?”
“There are several, Miss. But no one uses them anymore. I can’t vouch for their safety.”
“Will you show me?” Beatrice asked. “Not now, but during dinner? I’ll beg off and ask for a tray. After yesterday, no one will question it.”
Betsy turned to her then in the small confines of the passageway. “I’ll show you, but you’ll not go alone. Not again.”
Beatrice nodded her understanding. They were bound by their roles of servant and mistress only to a point. Friends and playmates as children, young girls sharing their dreams together in a grand house filled with sadness, their bonds went beyond that.
“Thank you, Betsy… and I will be careful.”
“As you should be, Miss… and I lied when I said I didn’t see anything before. If a man kissed me that way, I’d lose my head, too. Like he was starved for you. It’s what we all dream of, to be wanted that way… to have a man feel like he’d die without possessing us. Just don’t let it blind you too much.”
Beatrice blushed and ducked her head. “I am out of my depth.”
“Yes, Miss, you are. Folks like me, working class like, we can give our bodies without giving our hearts. We’re more practical about that than a lady is raised to be. If he takes one, he’ll take the other. I only pray he doesn’t break your heart.”
They reached her chamber and didn’t speak of it again. She couldn’t, Beatrice realized. She lacked the words to express what she felt and what she feared. Losing her heart to Graham was not an option, not when her prospect
s were so limited.
Chapter Nine
It was afternoon by the time Graham reached York. The bruising ride in the bitter cold had finally managed to curb his raging libido. The doctor, a man near his own age, had taken great interest in Graham aboard the ship. Dr. Warner had found his tales of missing memories and loss of identity to be fascinating. In the end, the doctor had provided Graham his direction and the offer to provide any treatment that might impact his memory. Graham could only hope that the doctor’s offer of assistance would extend to his family.
The direction was easy enough to find. The doctor’s home and practice were nestled in a narrow alleyway off the Shambles. The stone building was respectable but hardly grand. Knocking briskly, he was greeted by a short, round woman in a black gown with her hair pulled back in a severe knot.
“I am Lord Blakemore here for Dr. Warner,” he said.
The woman’s eyes raked over his ill-fitting attire that clearly belonged to a working man. “Lord, you say?”
“Aye, Madam. I say. Inform Dr. Warner that I am here,” Graham demanded, pushing past her and into the small entryway.
The woman looked ready to balk, drawing up to the full extent of her diminutive height. “I’ll tell him! And when he says he doesn’t know you, I’ll be shouting for the Watch to come and cart you off!”
“Do as you will, Madam, as soon as you have done as you are told,” he answered.
The woman marched off in a huff, muttering under her breath about those “who don’t know their place”. It was not long until she returned, eyes downcast and a flush on her cheeks.
“The doctor says I’m to show you to the parlor and get you tea.”
He noted that she said the doctor had told her to, not that she would. As he was fairly certain he would be served something less palatable than tea, he declined. “Just show me to the drawing room. I’ll not tax you for refreshment.”
Once in the small drawing room, Graham seated himself on a sturdy looking settee and thanked heavens that the doctor had furnishings more appropriate to supporting his weight than the delicate pieces at Castle Black.
It was only moments later that Dr. Warner entered. The man was dressed casually, his coat forgotten and his sleeves rolled back.
“Graham! Or should I address you as my lord?”
“Graham will do fine,” he answered. “How is your new practice in York?”
The doctor sighed. “Slow, my good man. Slow. It appears the people of York do not appreciate my new and unorthodox methods. They come to me asking to be bled by leeches and call me a madman or a charlatan when I refuse.”
“Then it will not be difficult to persuade you to abandon it for a while?”
Dr. Warner seated himself in the chair facing the settee. “Why?”
“Lady Agatha Blakemore is ill… she has fainting spells and is short of breath. Her existing physician has blamed it on her age and a weakening heart, but I cannot help but feel there is more to it than that.”
“Those symptoms are certainly indicative of a failing heart. Why would you think otherwise?”
“She is not so very old. But more than that, it’s simply a gut instinct, a bone deep belief that there is something more sinister at play than simply her age and failing health.”
“What do you think is occurring, my lord?”
Graham shrugged. “Perhaps she is truly just ill, but the care being provided is intended to simply shuffle her off rather than cure her. I cannot say. I only know that she grows weaker every day and I—I need to feel that I have done everything that I can for her.” He paused, hesitant to admit his greatest fear. But it had to be said. “I need some assurance that my return has not done more harm to her than good.”
The doctor eyed him speculatively for a moment, as if weighing what he had said. “It is likely that I will find nothing untoward. I understand that you have only just been reunited with your family and the prospect of losing your mother so soon after is—well, you do not need me to tell you what it is.”
“Then come to Castle Black not because you can change the course of things, but to give me peace of mind. You owe me that.”
Dr. Warner sighed. “I am well aware that I owe you my life and I am a man who pays his debts…I will agree to come to Castle Black and see to Lady Agatha on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“You must allow me to attempt Mesmer’s techniques with you to unlock these hidden memories of yours. I believe it could work or I would not be so insistent.”
Graham did not believe in Mesmer’s work. The doctor had discussed it with him aboard ship and, even then, he’d found the notion incredible. “Do you believe in animal magnetism, truly?”
“Not in the mystical sense, no,” the doctor said. “But I do believe that the mind is a mysterious and wonderful machine. I believe that your memories still exist and that, given the right amount of concentration and direction, they can be unlocked. Mesmer’s techniques are sound even if I believe his theory to be skewed. Will you attempt it?”
“I will do whatever is required,” Graham promised. “But I should tell you that I have begun to have flashes of memory, images from my childhood have returned… only a few, but they have been verified by others who were present.”
“And the nightmares?” Dr. Warner asked. “When I treated you following your head wound, you suffered greatly from them.”
“They continue,” Graham admitted. “But they are the least of my concerns… I must return to Castle Black. Not everyone is thrilled that I have returned and those who have shown support to me may be in danger because of it. I warn you of this because I do not wish you to enter the castle and then immediately flee.”
The doctor smiled. “I practiced medicine in a den of pirates, my lord. Danger is the spice of life.”
No. Lovely, dark-haired women with compassionate hearts and kind smiles were the spice of life. But he would not say such. “When will you depart for Castle Black?”
“I will leave tomorrow and be there by the afternoon to examine the patient,” the doctor said. “If that is sufficient. Can it wait for another day?”
“I believe so… but I would not allow it to wait much longer. I could be wrong, but my gut instinct tells me that there is something unnatural about Lady Agatha’s illness,” Graham said, giving voice to the fear that plagued him.
“We will get to the bottom of it. I swear it.”
Graham left the doctor’s house after a few moments and headed for the livery stable to reclaim his mount. It was a long journey back and it would be nightfall before he returned.
*
Beatrice sat at her dressing table. She’d spent the better part of her day confined to her room. Other than a brief visit to Lady Agatha who looked so impossibly tired. Afterward, she’d, once again, sequestered herself in her chamber. She did not want to risk another encounter with Edmund, especially since Graham was far from the castle and would not be coming to her assistance.
The dinner gong rang and her stomach did dips and swirls as her nerves got the better of her. But Betsy entered the room then and she knew it was too late to back out.
“Are you certain you want to go nosing like this, Miss?” Betsy asked. “We may find something we don’t want to know about.”
“Whether we want to know or not, if there is something going on under this roof that poses a danger to Lady Agatha or the rest of us, we need to know.” She rose to her feet, took a calming breath, and said, “I don’t have the luxury of cowardice, Betsy. Much as I might wish I did. Someone tried to kill me and I fear that whatever is afoot in the East Tower might be connected. These passages are the best way to find that out undetected.”
Betsy grabbed the candelabra from the table and led the way to a small panel concealed near the fireplace. “All these tunnels are connected. It’s convenient in some ways, but dangerous in others. ’Tis easy to get turned around once you’re in them. No windows. No light save what you brought with you. Don’
t ever try this on your own, Miss. Promise me?”
Shuddering as she peered into the small, tight space, Beatrice couldn’t imagine that she’d ever be brave enough to enter them alone. The musty smell, the cobwebs, and the sound of scurrying made her shiver. “You have my word on it,” Beatrice assured her.
In silence, they entered the narrow passage, Betsy in the front leading the way. One close corridor after another, they traversed the length of the family wing and made for the tower. The tunnel shifted sharply to the left and gave way to a small staircase. It was so narrow that her hips brushed against each wall as she climbed the steps.
“How on earth—”
Betsy shushed her sharply. “If you must speak, whisper. The corridors are concealed, but the walls are thin, Miss. You’ll be heard beyond them for sure.”
Beatrice nodded and they continued on, climbing upward until she was dizzy from it and breathless. Once they reached the top, there was a small strip of pale light seeping beneath a panel. Betsy turned back to her and placed a finger to her lips to remind her to be silent. Beatrice nodded again.
Slowly, each movement careful and measured, Betsy eased back a small panel in the door. It was only an inch wide, if that. It allowed just enough space to peer into the room. Was that how the servants managed to appear and disappear without being seen by anyone? They could peek into the room before entering to make certain they were not disturbing the residents?
When the maid stepped back, Beatrice pressed her face to that small portal and curiously examined the room beyond. It was clearly inhabited. There were bottles of brandy and wine littering the top of a table. Books, maps, and charts she could not recognize from such a distance were stacked around it. The bed beyond was rumpled, the linens piled in disarray. But no fire burned in the grate, so clearly whoever was utilizing the chamber did not intend to return any time soon.
“I want to get a closer look,” she said to Betsy.
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